


Sherlolly Fic-lish Allsorts

by MissMollyBloom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anniversary, F/M, Flirting, Married Couple, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parentlock, Secret Relationship, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMollyBloom/pseuds/MissMollyBloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of dabbles and one-shots originally posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Subtle Art of Obfuscation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This came from a random head canon I have: Established Sherlolly - Sherlock is always able to deduce if Molly’s wearing sexy underwear despite her baggy clothes.
> 
> Some mindless fluff and implied sexy stuff ahead!

Sherlock knew that the price he paid for not telling John about his new relationship with Molly was that she would have the power to tease him mercilessly every time the two of them joined her at Bart’s.

Her methods would vary - but the outcome was always the same. Sherlock would struggle to maintain his calm exterior so as not to reveal anything to John. Then he would either leave abruptly or create some excuse for himself and Molly to “collect more data” - often in the closest supply closet outside of John’s earshot.

The first time it happened, he thought it was an accident. He had no idea that Molly knew exactly what she was doing when she unwrapped the lollipop she had stashed in her lab coat. 

Molly’s face betrayed nothing as she placed the lolly in her mouth while intently examining the crime scene photographs he had given her. Sherlock could tell that John was saying something, but all of Sherlock’s attention was taken up with recording every detail of Molly’s perfect mouth and the way she ran her tongue around the candy’s round tip.

It didn’t take Sherlock long to blurt out something about a file he and Molly needed to find in basement storage. Urgently.

The fact that said “search” took long enough for John to come looking for them, almost catching them in media res, didn’t seem to blunt Sherlock’s enthusiasm the next time Molly decided to have some more fun at his expense.

It was a Friday afternoon and Sherlock and needed the results of a blood analysis before close of business that day. Using all his trademark tact and diplomacy, Sherlock stormed into the lab to demand an explanation for the delay. He found Molly, sitting alone, waiting for the centrifuge to finish its cycle.

After informing him that manners were indeed free and yelling wouldn’t make the passage of time any more swift, she proceeded to open up the small plastic container that was sitting on the bench in front of her. He could smell the coffee and liqueur of the single serving tiramisu cake. Purchased, he assumed, from the small cafe around the corner from her flat.

Molly had one spoonful of the dessert and made a sound he’d only ever heard her make in the throws of sexual ecstasy. So audacious was she that Sherlock snuck a glance at John to see if he’d reacted, but his partner seemed all too interested in the newspaper he was reading.

That time Sherlock mumbled a half-formed excuse about needing something from her office. Once they were both inside and the door was locked, he made her repeat that noise in its proper context - twice.

As their relationship progressed, Molly’s strategies to unhinge Sherlock became much more subtle. Often, she would be wearing a particular bra he liked the look of, and being Sherlock, it would only take him moments of seeing her to deduce what she was wearing - or one morning, that she was wearing nothing at all under her skirt. A fact he took swift advantage of when he led her to the women’s change room and hung an out of order sign on the door.

Sherlock was proud of himself for successfully handling Molly’s teasing while at the same time keeping their relationship secret. That was until one morning when John refused to go to Bart’s with him.

“What on earth is your problem?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing. I’m just worried what Molly’s going to do next.”

“What on earth do you mean, John?”

“I mean lollipops, orgasm noises, sexy underwear.”

Sherlock tried to remain cool. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Then I suppose you hadn’t noticed that every time we go to Bart’s you and Molly end up having sex?”

Sherlock gave up on hiding his relationship from John. But Molly never gave up on teasing Sherlock, just because she could.


	2. The Half-Life of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would happen if Sherlock had sold his soul to Moriarty to keep Molly safe?

Every night he would come to her. No matter what he had done in the light of day or in the depths of night’s darkness, he would seek her out. She had given up on changing the locks months ago, it was obvious that nothing could ever keep him from her.

The routine was always the same: pick the lock, prowl through her apartment in the dark, pray to a God he didn’t believe in that she would be there when he opened her bedroom door.

She always was.

He would never speak to her, nor she to him. Words would shatter the illusion that what they were doing was happening in anything other than a dream – although he wasn’t sure if the dream was hers or his.

Instead, he would use his body to tell her all his sins.

He would run his hand down the side of her face, the same hand which had been used to strike a different face over and over until it bled. Some poor sod who had gotten himself on the wrong side of a losing battle and now had to swear fealty when there was no honour left in the world.

He would place desperate kisses on her lips, searing her soul onto his – or in replacement of his which had been lost long ago. His lips were so gentle on hers, there was no sign of violent words spewed forth, or directions for other men to undertake vile acts no one should know of.

He would bury his nose in the hollow of her neck, inhaling her scent which he craved almost as much as anything else from his former life. A scent of life rather than the fetid stench of death which followed him around all day. He filled himself with her, allowing the aroma to recreate memories which he thought were forever lost to him – smiles and laughter and the quiet companionship of work performed side-by-side.

There was no way she could join him in his work now.

If she knew what it was he had been made to do to keep her alive, she’d rather die. He knew it. She knew it too.

So he took what he could from her, living the half-life of dreams in her bed, until he disappeared along with the last dark before the dawn.


	3. Not Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was looking over the transcript of BC’s QandA at Sherlocked and he seemed to think Sherlock wouldn’t be jealous that Molly slept with Moriarty. (Yeah, right!!). And thus, this silly little ficlet was born! Enjoy.

When - years after the fact - Sherlock found out that Molly had slept with Jim from IT, he wasn’t jealous. No, jealous didn’t come close to expressing how he thought about it all day, pictured it every time he closed his eyes, and wanting nothing else but to claim Molly’s body with his own, marking her indelibly as his.

He thought he’d done a good job at hiding it, until one afternoon he looked up from the microscope he’d commandeered in Bart’s lab to be met with the ferocious wide eyes of Molly’s fury.  
“What the hell is your problem?” She demanded.

“I don’t think I have a problem - these cultures aren’t reacting as I’d hoped. But otherwise, I’m fine-”

Her face turned from anger to frustration. Somehow he’d answered incorrectly.

“-thank you for asking?” He added, attempting to ease over any reason for her displeasure.

“Thank you for asking? That’s all you’ve got?” He hadn’t seen her this angry since the morning of his failed drugs test.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” He offered.

“You don’t talk to me for weeks, you can’t even look at me, even when we’re in the same room, and all I get is ‘thank you’ and 'I’m sorry’?”

“Oh. That. Well-” he took a deep breath, steeling himself, before blurting out, “MarytoldmeyouhadsexwithMoriartyandnowit'sallIcanthinkabout,” in one breath.

“What?”

“Mary told me you had sex with Moriarty and now it’s all I can think about,” he repeated.

“Oh. That.” All traces of anger were gone from her face, replaced with shock and mild embarrassment. “Well-”

“Please don’t.” He cut her off. “I’d hate to discover that the truth is even worse than my imagination.”

“But-”

“No, Molly. I don’t want to know what he did to you, if you liked it, if he’s a generous or selfish lover, how many times, or where, or when. Believe me - I’ve run through all the possibilities already,” he said, tapping his temple.

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been thinking of me and Jim - sorry, Moriarty.” Sherlock’s narrowed eyes made her correct herself.

“Yes. I have.”

“Why?”

“Why. Yes. Well-” he honestly had no idea.

They fell silent for a moment.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Is it possible you’re-” Molly hesitated.

“I’m what?”

“Is it possible you’re jealous?”

Sherlock scoffed. “No!”

“No?” Molly prodded.

“No. I’m just resentful of your involvement with another man. That’s not jealous.”

“I think you’ll find that’s the definition of jealous - except-”

“Except what?”

“Well,” she began coyly, “you usually have to have feelings for the person you’re jealous for.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Well, when Mary told me, all I wanted to do was go over to your place, carry you to the bedroom and make you forget all about your time with Moriarty.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“So you have feelings for me?”

“It seems so, yes.”

“What do you plan on doing about it?”

“Well, to start,” he grabbed her arms, pulled her close to him, and kissed her - hard. He backed her up against the table, pinning her so she couldn’t move, and plundered her mouth with his tongue. She ran her hands through his hair, fingers raking on his scalp and causing him to let out a guttural moan onto her lips.

Molly broke the kiss.

“A pretty good start,” she smiled. “But there’s something you need to know.”

“What? He asked, slightly breathless.

"I didn’t sleep with Jim.”

“Yes you did - Mary told me.”

“Yes, and I told Mary. But it’s not true.”

“Why would you lie about it?”

“I wanted to see if you’d be jealous.” She smirked. “I’m so glad you’re not.”

“No. I’m not.” Sherlock said. And kissed her again.


	4. What can you Deduce?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this little Ficlet came from. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated ex-post-facto to mistykins06 for her anniversary.

She was sitting in his chair at Baker Street when he arrived home that evening. It had been raining all day, his Belstaff was heavy with water and his curls had been flattened into a wild black mass on his head. He looked a wreck.

She, on the other hand, looked perfect.

“Molly…” He began, but she stood, placing a finger on his lips to silence him.

“What can you deduce, Mr Holmes?” She asked as she circled around him, affording him the chance to observe her fully.

Her hair was down, loose waves cascaded down her back. He rarely got the chance to see her hair like this - unbound. It had also been recently coloured - a subtle shade of darker red. So close to her natural colour that no one else but him would ever notice.

Next, her clothes. She was wearing his royal blue silk robe, but instead of using it to conceal what she wore underneath, it was draped open around her like a cape. She wanted him to see.  
Underneath she wore a white lace camisole, long enough to almost cover her matching lace panties. Her legs were bare, and from the look of them, freshly waxed. He couldn’t help wondering where the beautician had been asked to stop - if at all.

An echo of something about preferring clean-shaven doctors floated through his head, and he bit his lip to stop himself from blurting it out.

He looked for signs of anything else she may have had done at the salon and noticed her nails. With a job like hers, she never tended to indulge in a manicure. Too pointless a luxury. But on special occasions, she did like to treat herself. She never went for gaudy colours like bright red or patterns or anything unnatural. Instead her nails were pristine, naked except from the shine of the manicurist’s clear lacquer.

The scent she wore was familiar. It was masked somewhat by the sandalwood of his aftershave on his robe, but he could detect its sweet scent along with the lavender of her body lotion, and if he closed his eyes he could picture her rubbing the lotion over her legs and thighs and belly and breasts.

She had been standing silently while she allowed him to make his mental deductions. When he had observed all he needed to, he met her gaze, and saw the slight smirk on her lips. He could tell she knew what effect she had on him.

“So?” She asked, her tone almost challenging him.

“Well,” he began, “from your hair, your clothing, your recent trip to the beautician, your perfume and the look on your face, it’s fair to say somewhere along the line I’ve done something right.”

She nodded. “Indeed you have.”

“And one more thing,” he added.

“Oh?”

He pulled her to himself, and kissed her, with the same passion and intensity of every kiss they had ever shared.

He broke the kiss, and whispered in her ear, “Happy Anniversary to you too, Mrs Holmes.”


	5. Questions, Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of my 100-Follower Celebration on Tumblr (I'm MissMollyBloom on there, too). A prompt fill for sherlolly29 who asked for “a Sherlolly parent!lock where they’re tutoring their kid.”

Molly knew that Sherlock wasn’t going to be like most fathers. It didn’t mean he was any worse. In fact, with his odd hours he was often around more for Will than if he worked a 9 to 5 job. He was often able to do the morning drop-off at pre-school, and even though he was often out on a case at night, he would endeavor either to be home for Will’s bedtime story, or be willing to interrupt his case to perform his duty over the phone – as long as the case was a 7 or less.

But Sherlock was definitely different.

It was most obvious in the way he would answer Will’s questions. A curious child, Will would often want to know the reason that things were the way they were. Most parents would paraphrase, or shrug off, or ignore such questions. Sherlock, however, would take the opportunity to answer in as much detail as possible.

When he first learned to talk, Will asked, “Why red? Why blue? Why green?”

“Colour only exists as a construct when light rays bounce off an object and are absorbed by our corneas,” Sherlock explained.

Will just smiled, “Blue pretty.”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes, it is.”

When he was two, Will asked, “Daddy, why is it winter?”

“The earth is on an axis in relation to the sun and the part of the globe on which we reside is tilted away from the sun at this point in the rotation,” Sherlock rattled off.

“And it snows,” Will added.

When he was three, after watching Dinosaur Train, Will wanted to know why there weren’t any dinosaurs at the Zoo.

“Dinosaurs are extinct,” Sherlock began, “Their fossils are proof that the atmospheric conditions on the Earth are far different today from what they were millions of years ago. A meteor landed and changed the weather conditions so significantly that the dinosaurs couldn’t adapt.”

Will nodded, “T-Rex goes ‘Raaaaw’.”

When he was four and they were at Sherlock’s parents’ house for Christmas lunch Will asked, “Why isn’t Uncle Mike married?”

Sherlock smirked, taking a deep breath before rattling off, “Mycroft likes to makes us all think that he is a closeted homosexual man who hasn’t taken a lover in some time but I know that, despite the fact that he believed himself to be asexual until well into his thirties, that he and his assistant Anthea have recently been engaging in frequent sexual congress in his office once, sometimes twice a week.”

Mycroft’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Sherlock’s father nearly choked on his tea while Sherlock’s mother simply nodded, having deduced it all already.

Molly just shook her head. She knew never to be surprised by the man she married.

Will broke the silence. “Congress like the Americans have in Washington?” he asked.

Sherlock tussled his son’s hair, “something like that.”

The week before Will turned five, Molly convinced Sherlock that it was time to tell their son that he would have a new baby brother or sister in about seven months’ time.

Will was quiet for a moment. Molly didn’t know if he was worried, or happy, or scared, or all of the above.

After a while Will spoke again.

“Daddy?”

“Yes Will?”

“How did the baby get in mummy’s belly?”

Sherlock paused for a moment. Molly had no idea how he was going to handle this one, how much detail he’d provide and in what context he’d provide it.

Sherlock took a deep breath before speaking.

“Ask your mother,” he said.


End file.
